


A Guy Walks Into a Flower Shop

by Selenay



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Darcy Lewis/Natasha Romanov, Fluff, Grumpy Valentine's people, Happy Ending, M/M, Not the schmoopy kind of fluff, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Clint had know Natasha was sending him to a flower shop, he definitely would have stopped at the bar two blocks back.</p>
<p>In which Clint and Natasha are very bad at Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Guy Walks Into a Flower Shop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/gifts).



> This is the terrible spawn of a couple of different Valentine's prompts I was sent. I'm usually a Valentine's scrooge so my grumpy V-Day vibes went into making this fluffy and hopefully funny, but as un-schmoopy as I could manage given the ideas that inspired it.
> 
> Thanks to raiining and an anonymous prompter for the various bits of inspiration.

So a guy walks into a bar...

No, wait, that wasn't what happened. Clint actually walked into a flower shop. Not deliberately. If he'd known what was at the address, he would have stopped at the bar two blocks back and pretended not to see Natasha's message.

So a guy walks into a flower shop...

Clint walked into a sea of pink and red and sweet, sweet flower smells. He coughed and sputtered on the cloying scent and a guy in a wrinkled coat gave him a sympathetic look.

"Allergies," Clint said, even though it was a complete lie.

"My wife," the guy said, and returned to contemplating bouquets.

Clint really hoped he meant he was looking for flowers for his wife. Otherwise he was either (a) looking at flowers, potentially for a wife with allergies or (b) he was calling Clint his wife, which could indicate some kind of mental break induced by all the pollen. Yeah, Clint definitely wasn't going there.

He peered around the shop and finally found Natasha next to a display of things with frilly pink petals. Her red hair was surprisingly difficult to spot in all the red, pink, peach, and white. Clint was never going to tell her that. She'd take it the wrong way.

Natasha didn't smile when he nudged her shoulder. She picked up a flower and held it out instead. "What do you think?"

Clint touched the petals with the tip of a finger. Huh. Soft. He'd forgotten petals felt like that. "It's a flower."

"I wasn't here for puppies. Obviously it's a flower. I'm asking what you think about it."

"I'm thinking it's a flower and I'm touched, but I don't have a vase to put it in. They're not really my thing."

"I didn't bring you here to buy flowers for you." Natasha stuck the stalk back in its bucket and glared at the shelf. "I brought you here to help me choose flowers. For someone else."

Clint frowned. "Flowers? Why? Who for?"

Somehow Natasha managed to put an entire diatribe of pain, frustration, and distain into one muttered Russian word. It wasn't one Clint had heard before. That meant it was probably a really obscene curse and Clint made a mental note to ask about it later in case he ever needed to use it.

Clint snuck a glance at Natasha's expression.

Much later.

"Look around," Natasha said, gesturing around the shop. "What do you see?"

"I don't-"

"Just try to see it. I'll wait."

Clint narrowed his eyes and looked around the shop. Flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. Big, small, frilly, slim, they were all definitely flowers. Mostly in shades of pink and red, with white baby's breath featuring prominently and...shit.

Fuck.

Fucking fucking fuck shit shit.

"It's Valentine's Day," he said. His voice sounded faint in his ears. "Uh."

"How have you missed it until now?"

"I was busy. You know. With stuff."

"Stuff," Natasha said.

"Yeah, you know. Stuff. Avengering stuff. And Valentine's Day usually kinda sucks, so I just...ignore it. I mean, do people really like all this sickly pink shit?"

"Someone people do."

Clint grinned and flicked a flower head. The petals fell off and he kicked them under the rack before moving a couple of feet away and trying to look innocent. "By people you mean Darcy. Darcy likes the flowers and cards and little teddy bears."

"Not the teddy bears. I think she's more the..." Natasha trailed away and, surprisingly, a hint of pink stained her cheeks.

It was hard to decide whether Natasha blushing was terrifying or adorable. Probably terrifying.

"She's more the...fluffy pink handcuffs type?" Clint said with a wide, obnoxious smirk. "Huge chocolate cake type? Action movies with explosions?"

Natasha pulled out a bunch of roses and hid her face in them for a moment. The blush had faded by the time she looked up with a small, wicked smile. "Probably all of the above."

"I'm not judging. Sounds like you've got your gifts figured out."

"Except for the flowers. What do you think?"

"I think roses are classic and you should definitely get some." He obediently smelled the bouquet when she held it out and nodded. "Great choice, go with those."

"Are you just saying that so we get out of here faster?"

"Yes."

"Good enough."

They joined the line at the register. Natasha was the only obviously female person in the line and Clint tried not to feel guilty that he didn't have a huge monstrosity of flowers in his arms. Phil wasn't really a flower kind of guy either, Clint told himself.

Yeah. Not a flower guy. He was kind of a romantic, though. He probably had something planned.

And Clint had...nothing. Not even a crappy card.

Shit fuck shit. He was screwed.

"You should at least get him a card, you know," Natasha said as they moved forward with the line. Sometimes Clint suspected she was an actual mind reader, even though Phil insisted they were a myth. "Try to look like you remembered, even if you didn't."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll do something."

***

Clint flopped bonelessly onto his back and sighed. Every muscle in his body had turned to jelly and he was riding the really good glow from a pretty damn amazing orgasm. Best feeling ever.

The mattress shifted slightly under him. A warm, heavy arm landed over his belly and he felt a puff of air on his shoulder as Phil rolled against him.

"I figured you for the romance type," Clint said after a couple of minutes of quiet basking.

"I got you a present," Phil said. "You seemed to like it."

His voice sounded deeper and rougher than usual. It was his sex voice and Clint always got a secret thrill (OK, maybe not so secret anymore, at least in this bed) that he did this to Phil. That he could make Phil sleepy and satisfied and raspy-voiced after really, really fantastic sex.

"Thank you for my present," Clint said. His new throwing knives were still in their case on the floor, in the middle of a mess of wrapping paper. "It's a really great present."

"So was mine."

"A really crappy card and a teddy bear?"

"It's the thought that counts." Phil paused for a moment before adding, "And the blow job."

"There's another nine where that came from."

Phil bit his shoulder. "I think this might just be an excuse to blow me more often."

"It's a sacrifice, but I'll get through it somehow. Gotta pay off that IOU somehow. "

"Sacrifice usually implies that you don't get anything out of the deal."

"Is it my fault if I really like sucking your dick?" Clint lifted his head just enough to aim a kiss at the top of Phil's head. "And anyway, you were the one being all insistent about getting fucked. I was fine stopping at the blow job. Everything else was all on you."

Phil chuckled. "Literally. We probably should clean up a bit."

"Aw, no." Clint wasn't too proud to whine. "Can't we bask a bit more?"

"I'll bask more when I'm not sticky."

Clint tried to pull Phil back when he rolled away, but he was fast and sneaky and Clint's hand closed around thin air. Bastard. Sexy, beautiful bastard. There were compensations to watching Phil walk away to fetch a wet cloth, though. Mostly, getting to watch Phil's bare ass and then getting to watch Phil's bare everything as he walked back carrying a damp cloth.

Clint yelped when Phil dropped it on his belly because the bastard (sexy, beautiful bastard) had used cold water. He opened his mouth to protest, but his stomach gave a loud growl. He stuttered off and winced instead, which Phil seemed to think was a lot funnier than it really was.

"I'll order pizza," Phil said, still chuckling, and Clint got to watch him bend over to look for his phone in the tangle of pants and shirts on the floor.

"I brought cupcakes," Clint said, sitting up with the cloth clutched in his hands. "They're in the hall. Somewhere. The frosting's kind of pink, but the cakes are chocolate."

Phil didn't respond until he'd finished ordering their food. Then he smiled and said, "That's dessert settled, then."

Clint finished cleaning up and threw the cloth in the direction of the laundry hamper. "Do we get to eat in bed?"

"Just this once."

"Best Valentine's Day ever. Amazing sex and then pizza and cake in bed. We should make this a tradition."

Clint's breath suddenly left his lungs as Phil smoothly climbed onto the bed and straddled his thighs. He wrapped his arms round Phil's waist to pull him closer, feeling warm and needy even though there was no way either of them should be ready for another round yet. Phil's kiss was slow and deep, his tongue curling around Clint's and setting off small sparks of want again. Clint gave himself to it and couldn't suppress the protesting noise he made when Phil nipped his bottom lip and pulled away.

"A tradition sounds good," Phil said. "It sounds purposeful. Long term."

"It does, doesn't it?"

"Uh-uh."

"Great. Wanna make out until the food gets here?"

Phil's response was another deep, slow kiss and Clint sighed happily into it. Sex, pizza, and Phil in his arms. This was definitely the best way to do Valentine's Day.


End file.
